


The Great Lehnsherr

by xavier



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cherik - Freeform, M/M, Magic AU, cherik au, houdini
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2271885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavier/pseuds/xavier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An au where Erik is an escape artist who tours the world. However, he has an ulterior motive hiding beneath the show man bravado... and then he meets a fresh faced student looking to escape the chains of education and his own history and Erik Lehsnsherr is just the man to show him how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Escape

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on the life of Harry Houdini. A lot of the acts that will be mentioned in the future are inspired by him. Saying that, however, this is set in a different time to Houdini so a lot of things will be different. Essentially, though, the main concept of it is that Erik is an escape artist but he is also hunting down Shaw very much like in First Class. I like to see it as First Class with magic.
> 
> I'd also like to thank Gabi for being awesome and helping me with writing Erik because god knows I'm clueless.

**_1937 – Nuremberg, Germany._ **

The Eisenhardt family were born survivors.

In times of starvation they always found food and water. In times of recession they would always find money. Max Eisenhardt had been brought up to make the most of what you’ve got since he was small. Even now, as he stood on the streets of Nuremberg with nothing more than a silver coin and a ragged hat, he was making the most of what he had. For his family. _For his mother._ He wove the coin in and out of his fingers, never making contact with it, as he watched and waited for a business man who seemed like they had money to spare… and then he spied someone.

“Sir,” Max waved across the streets – in his native tongue of German.

The man looked around him to make sure he was the one being addressed before he made his way across the road towards the boy. The man wore glasses and laugh lines on his face and a silk tie around his neck. Max could tell that this gentleman had a few marks in his pockets. “Yes, boy?”

“If you have a moment to spare, will you allow me to show you something of great amazement?”

The gentleman checked his watch before nodding “if you’re quick.”

Max smiled in gratitude as he rested the coin delicately in the palm of his hand. He took a few moments, his eyes focused on the coin and then, as if by **magic** , the coin slowly began to levitate, finding its rest a few inches suspended above Max’s palm.

“How-“the gentleman asked, waving his own hand between Max and the coin, searching for strings.

“Magic, Sir.”

“What is your name?” he asked, delving into his pocket and placing a few coins into Max’s hat.

“Max Eisenhardt,” Max replied, pocketing his own coin.

“Pleasure to meet you, Max – I shall remember that name,” he smiled “you may call me _Schmidt_.”

**_1962 - Oxford, England._ **

For Erik it was always a very simple act.

He knew how every lock and gear of the handcuffs turned as if it was his own heartbeat. Although, metal had always been incredibly easy for him to move and manipulate so these particular pair of handcuffs really were nothing special. In fact, they weren’t even his own. He had ‘borrowed’ them from a rather gruff looking policeman last time he had been arrested… and then escaped.

Erik had unlocked the handcuffs within seconds of having them being tightened around his wrists by some random young woman he had picked out of the crowed. He had found, however, that an audience enjoyed the anticipation, so he stood with his hands behind his back for a few more moments and then he held the open handcuffs high above his head, triumphantly “thank you, ladies and gentleman. I have been Erik Lehnsherr. Goodnight.”

Applause coated the small bar that was situated in Oxford, England as drunken students continued to intoxicate themselves. Erik smiled for a few moments, pocketing the handcuffs and then moved over to the bar. He opened his mouth to speak but the sounds that escaped him were not the usual deep, German words that he was used to. Instead, the words he had meant to say sounded light and… very English. It took him a few moments for him to realise that it wasn’t he who had spoken.

“Hakushu single malt for the magician and… I think I’ll have a Carling.” Erik glanced over at the source of the voice with furrowed brows. The man must have been at least ten years his junior – Twenty five? Twenty six? – and he wore a very frumpy cardigan with a contrastingly tight pair of trousers. The thing Erik couldn’t help but notice aside from his auburn hair and cherry lips were the two bright eyes that shone out at him, matching his voice.

“How did you know I drink Hakushu?“ Erik asked, positioning his body so he faced the gentleman slightly better.

“The same way you got out of those handcuffs,” the man smiled, pushing the payment for the drink across the bar as he accepted his pint of beer, gesturing towards Erik’s whiskey. “The X Gene. At least, that’s what I have coined it for the purpose of my thesis.”

“The X Gene?” Erik asked, accepting his beverage with a nod.

“You and I, Mr Lehnsherr, are the product of a large leap in evolution. You manipulate metal. I read minds. It’s all genetics,” he said, holding out his hand to shake “Charles Xavier.”

Erik glanced down at the hand, shaking it before the words had fully sunken in “you’re like me?”

“Yes. There are many of us. My sister, Raven,” he gestured over to a rather attractive looking blonde stood at the other end of the bar; begrudgingly sipping on what seemed to be a cola “she is also a mutant. She has the ability to change her appearance and voice to mimic anyone she desires.”

“Incredible.” A small smile played with the edge of Erik’s mouth as he glanced from the woman and back to Charles.

“Quite. I presume you have never met anyone like yourself before?”

“You’re the mind reader,” Erik said, a little bitterer than he had wanted it to “you tell me.”

“I don’t make a habit of prying into a person’s thoughts,” Charles said “occasionally thoughts surface and I cannot help but see them. I do try and respect a person’s privacy however.”

“Well, I would appreciate it if you tried your best not to pry in the future,” Erik stated, sipping on the whiskey “unless you’re buying me a drink that is.”

“And you’re so sure I’ll want to buy you another drink in the future,” Charles asked, resting against the bar, an eyebrow rising in amusement.

“I don’t have to be a mind reader to tell that you’re curious,” Erik said, his fingers playing with the handcuffs in his pocket subconsciously.

“I like magic,” Charles said as he ran his thumb around the edge of the glass, his eyes fixated on Erik’s.

“That wasn’t magic.”

“Don’t ruin it for me.”

“You ruined it for yourself.”

“It’s not my fault you leave your mind so wide open.”

“I’ll make an effort to keep my secrets secret from you in the future,” Erik said unsure himself if he was being playful or aggressive.

Charles’ eyes almost glistened as took a small step towards his new acquaintance. It was a mere few inches but it could have been a whole mile considering the way Erik’s stomach flip. “The future, again? Something tells me you quite like the idea of me being in your future.”

Erik opened his mouth to reply, to explain how he didn’t believe in the future. To explain that he lived each day with a single purpose to find the man who had made him the monster hiding behind the surface he was now. To explain that revenge was the only future he saw and the rest of it was meaningless. This Charles Xavier, however, was still a stranger and those thoughts remained safe guarded. “It was escape artistry,” Erik finally said.

“I’m sorry?” Charles tilted his head slightly.

“It wasn’t magic, it was escape artistry. I escape. I don’t do magic tricks.”

Charles nodded “where do you next perform?”

“Dublin and then New York.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know yet.” Erik said, shaking his head slightly. ‘Wherever I may find Schmidt,’ was what he meant to say.

“Take me with you.”

Erik paused, resting his glass back down on the bar in thought. “You want to come with me?”

“Yes,” Charles said with a small smile about his face “I want to go with you.”

“I’m just some magician you met in a bar.”

“You said so yourself. You’re not a magician, you’re an escape artist. You escape,” Charles said, “let me escape with you.” Erik had no idea what to say. He wasn’t sure if he should say yes or no, if he should ask more questions or just take a leap of faith. He, however, hardly had time to think before the young man began to speak again. “I promise I won’t be any trouble. I’ll let my sister know where I am going. Besides, you won’t have to pay for me, I have plenty money of my own. My home is actually in Westchester. I could help with the shows or-“

“Fine!” Erik said, firmly “anything to shut you up. Fine. You can come with me.”

“Thank you. I promise you that you won’t regret it.”


	2. The Liberation

**_1932 – Berlin, Germany_ **

Laughter filled the Eisenhardt household as two siblings sat on the kitchen floor, twenty matchsticks between them and a small wooden dreidel in the older sister’s hand. Max wore a broad grin as his big sister, Ruth, continued to explain how to play the game Driedel.

“And you see this symbol, Max?” she asked pointing to the ‘Hay’ symbol “this means you take half of the matchsticks in middle. And this one,” she pointed to the ‘Shin’ symbol “this means you put one of your matchsticks into the middle. Understand?”

Max nodded “and the person who ends up with all the matchsticks wins, right?”

“Right!” Ruth grinned at her brother, ruffling his hair before she spun the dreidel watching as it collapsed.

_“I have a little dreidel_   
_I made it out of clay,_   
_And when it's dry and ready,_   
_O dreidel I shall play._   
_O dreidel dreidel dreidel,_   
_I made it out of clay,_   
_And when it's dry and ready,_   
_O dreidel I shall play.”_

**_1962 – Dublin, Ireland_ **

"This has to stop, Charles,” Erik finally said after about ten minutes of pushing a piece of pancake around his plate. It had been a long couple of days and the late nights that paired with early mornings was finally beginning to catch up with him.

Erik was never one to lie in bed until noon but he was never one to be up at the crack of dawn either. He just went to bed at a normal time and woke up at a normal time. Providing his dreams weren’t plagued with nightmares and his thoughts before sleep didn’t drift to the past, of course. However, ever since he had taken up Charles Xavier as something of a companion, his routine had been completely disjointed. Charles was eager to explore. He toured the sites of the town during the day, helped Erik with his shows during the evening and then proceeded to drink until he collapsed at night – somehow managing to get by every night with less than three hours of sleep.

Charles glanced up from the newspaper he had occupied himself with that morning. It was their last morning in Dublin before they were due to take a cruise liner to New York City with Erik being one of the performers whilst on-board. "I'm sorry?"

"This has to stop,” Erik sighed through sleep filled eyes. Chasing the man all over Dublin was more than draining. He had gone nights with little sleep before but he was usually fuelled with adrenaline. Recently, his lack of sleep had been simply from being far too concerned to allow Charles to roam the streets unsupervised. He was an intelligent man, no doubt, but Erik couldn’t help but notice that Charles Xavier was as equally an idiot as he was a genius.

Charles nodded “I heard you the first time but I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

Erik ran his hand over his face, his eyes desperate to close and his body wanting nothing more than to crawl back to bed “you never sleep.” The telepath quirked a brow as he questioned the Erik with nothing more than a look. “It’s exhausting.”

“You know you don’t actually have to follow me around,” Charles said, resting the newspaper down onto the table “I am a grown man. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“Which is why your little sister insisted on accompanying you to Oxford and babysitting you every night?”

“She is just over protective.”

“Which is why last night I had to practically carry you home after you drunk your body weight in beer, then proceeded to try and climb a tree before falling and spraining your ankle?”

Charles paused, glancing down and under the table with a small smirk “oh, that’s what that was,” he shrugged “that was a one off incident.”

“Charles, I have known you four days and you have nearly been hospitalized six times, I’ve lost you three times and you’ve nearly been kidnapped twice,” he exhaled, “I am also more than certain you have had relations that you would regret if you could actually remember them _at least_ once every night,” Erik nodded “you’re exhausting.” The mutant glanced up from the untouched pancakes, meeting his companion’s gaze, “Charles, if you’re going to continue to travel with me then I must make myself very clear. I am not your babysitter. You are an adult. I need my rest. I have enough on my mind as it is without having to turn around to find you have disappeared every five minutes.” He shook his head “it’s as if you’re a toddler.”

An awkward quality coated the breakfast table, Charles not saying anything. However, when he finally did decide to speak, it was not the apology that Erik had expected. Instead, it was something entirely different.

"Is this about Schmidt?"

"How do... “ Erik’s words became confused, trying to properly process what had been said. “I told you to stay out of my head!"

Charles’ suddenly became incredibly fixated by his own hands, not even daring to look at Erik at that moment in time. Erik had the impression the telepath had realised his mistake but the fact he had broken his trust needed more than a remorseful look to earn forgiveness. "I didn't mean to but people tend to think very loudly when they dream and since we were sharing a room, I couldn't help but see. I'm sorry about what happened to your family, Erik."

Panic washed over the man.  Of course, Charles would know about Schmidt after the dream he had a few nights prior. He supposed most would class it as a nightmare but, to Erik, the dream showed him exactly what he needed to do. He had dreamed of a single coin just pushing its way through the Nazi’s skull, ripping apart his nerves little by little… and then…

"You don't have to do this, Erik,” Charles interrupted the man’s thoughts, obviously having tuned into Erik’s mind again. Erik tried his best to block the telepath out of his head, pushing against any intrusion.

"Says who? Says you? I've known you four days!” Erik’s voice stayed at the same volume but it was clear he was becoming increasingly aggravated, “how can you possibly make a judgement as to what I have to do?"

"I'm sorry..."

"No!” he snapped, pushing himself to a stand, beginning to move away from the breakfast table “you betrayed my trust.”

“Where are you going?” Charles asked, his eyes wide and… perhaps…. embarrassed? However, Erik didn’t reply, he just shook his head as he shrugged his coat on over his turtle neck jumper before braving the damp Irish streets.

**_1945 – Auschwitz, Germany_ **

He was free. At least, that’s what they had told him. Auchwitz had been liberated. Max would have shaken his head if he had the energy to spare.

_Freedom?_

 What could a man like him do with freedom after so long at the mercy of men like _that_? Max’s eyes travelled along the dirt before they rested upon two young children… laughing… it had been such a long time since he had heard such an innocent sound. The happiness in their voices unsettled him… it reminded him of something he used to know. Someone had supplied the children with a dreidel and allowed them to play with it, using stones as counters while they waited. He supposed they had lost people too – parents, friends… siblings?

Max swallowed hard at the memory of his sister, recalling the first time he had played Driedel himself. Tears threatened the back of his throat as he swallowed back hard. It had been so long since she had been ripped away from him and yet the physical ache that ran through his body was still so raw.

“What’s your name?” he heard a voice ask. He glanced up to see a soviet stood towering over him. It had been a long time since someone had asked him that question. Part of him had forgotten who he really was. His name was Max Eisenhardt but that wasn’t _really_ who he was. Not anymore. He glanced down at his arm – for so long he had been referred to number branded into his skin - 214782.

Who was he?

He wasn’t Max. Max had died along with his mother, his father... with Ruth.

“What’s your name?” the soviet repeated. 

“Erik,” he finally said “ **Erik Lehnsherr**.”

_“I have a little dreidel_   
_I made it out of clay,_   
_And when it's dry and ready,_   
_O dreidel I shall play._   
_O dreidel dreidel dreidel,_   
_I made it out of clay,_   
_And when it's dry and ready,_   
_O dreidel I shall play.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everything here is historically accurate. I didn't nag Gabi for facts as much as I probably should have for this chapter but... yeah. I hope you enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure when I get the next chapter out but if you like this please let me know because I had fun writing it. But yeah. Thank you for reading.
> 
> Thanks again to Gabi who is awesome.


End file.
